


The Morning After

by birdsofshore, capitu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco is confused by Muggle things, Humor, M/M, Muggle Studies, Smut, kitchen shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/pseuds/birdsofshore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitu/pseuds/capitu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what happens when you stick your wand in places where it really shouldn't go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> **Authors' Notes:** Birdsofshore: I blame capitu for everything. Seriously. She made me do it. I would like to state that capitu is a marvel and that this was an utter joy to be part of. Thank you also to our lovely beta, lq_traintracks, who didn’t just shake her head and tell us to go away and write it properly.  
>  Capitu: What! No way! I blame birdsofshore. _She_ made me do it. Honest! And I can't thank her enough for it. She was incredibly supportive and encouraging and made this experience the best thing in the history of ever. She's the best. Our beta is also the best, who fixed all the things and didn't think this little story was crazy at all, which really, says a lot about the three of us. Thank you both for being so amazing.  
>  And finally thank you to the mods for making this fest possible. <3
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.

Potter's house is an utter mess. Merlin. I know I had a few drinks last night, but I can't believe I didn't notice the state of his bedroom when he Side-Alonged us onto the bed. I suppose I was distracted at the time. I had Potter's hand down my trousers and Potter's tongue down my throat and altogether, it was a terribly inadvisable condition in which to Apparate. But having checked Potter very thoroughly since then – all over – I can vouch for the fact that he did arrive safely and in one piece.

All my parts were fully functioning as well. I _functioned_ rather nicely – brilliantly, even – a couple of times last night and then again this morning. Potter said he'd be late for work, but by the time we'd each downed a vial of hangover potion and I had him with his ankles draped over my shoulders, he seemed to care even less about that than I did.

When I saw how he looked buttoning his Auror's uniform across his chest, I nearly jumped on him again, but instead I dozed off and had several hours’ fabulous sleep. Woke up in his rather comfortable bed – which we seem to have left reeking of sex – with my stomach rumbling.

He said he'd be home for lunch, if I cared to hang about. I wonder what time lunch is, chez Potter? I could go another round right now, to be honest. Just thinking about him last night, his eyes liquid and his hands and mouth and prick and arse so bloody eager for me. Fuck, yes. But it's only just after eleven. I suppose I should see if Potter keeps any food in this pit, or if – as a quick look at the kitchen counter and the piles of empty containers suggests – he subsists on takeaways. Something to eat, then a shower, and I'll be ready for anything. Well, I'll be ready for _Potter_.

I haven't felt this keen for quite some time, I must say. Who knew the Chosen One would be such a startlingly good fuck?

Right. Food. There's some stuff inside this cold cabinet thing. Wilted salad that looks like it was bought with good intentions and then left to rot. Something furry that might have once been cheese. And several bottles of Muggle beer.

I'm tutting to myself. Raised by Muggles? More like raised by wolves. I open a cupboard and there are unfamiliar packets and tins and – ah. A loaf of bread wrapped in a thin transparent bag. I open it and sniff at it. It smells peculiar, but it's undeniably bread. Potter must know some fancy Charms because it's already neatly sliced, just waiting for me to eat it. There's a pack of butter next to it in the cupboard. I'm all set.

Except that I can't bear plain bread and butter unless it's toasted.

A hazy sort of memory is trying to surface from last night. In amongst the images of tangled limbs, Potter's hot mouth, and frankly filthy tongue, I remember... _toast_.

Fuck, yes. It was hot and perfect – crisp at the edges and soft in the middle, oozing with butter. I was fuzzy with alcohol and shaky from too much sex, and it was like manna to my drunken self. And Potter brought me a whole stack of it on a plate.

Now, where did the bugger get it from?

I take a good look around. No house-elves here, of course. Arse. I don't know any cooking Charms at all. Unless you count one to make bath water hot again when it starts to get chilly. Handy, but not a lot of use here, I admit. No, Potter did something with one of these weirdly shaped devices that are cluttering up his counter. I eye them warily. Why are there so many of them? And which one makes toast happen?

I take a slice of the Charmed bread and walk along the counter, sizing up each one. Bread wouldn't fit in the spout of whatever this one is – and besides, it's half-full of water. Unless Muggles like to steam their bread. Who knows? Really, who the devil knows? I honestly wouldn't put it past them. I stop in front of a thing that must have once been shiny and silver, but now stands smeared with fingerprints among an island of crumbs. Hmm. Promising.

There are two slots at the top. Two distinctly bread-shaped slots. Hah. The bread drops in easily, one slice, then another. I smirk to myself and lounge against the counter with my arms folded, anticipating the mouth-watering smell of fresh toast any second now. Piece of piss, this Muggle cooking.

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2w1wo75)

Hey, who's this? I don't believe we've met. Hello, I'm a Toaster—but wait! You have to press down the lever for me to work, mate. I don't work on wishes. If wishes were all it took, I wouldn't be this dirty. Not that I care too much, mind. I think a few smears here and there give me Kitchen-cred. Still. I need heat to toast.

But this bloke is slow. Look at him, lounging about not noticing I can do nothing like this. Well. I can wait, too. Harry Potter owns me; sometimes he doesn't give me any for days, but he always comes back for my stuff. And while time is all I have, at this rate my guarantee is going to expire before we get started.

Maybe I should make a sound. Wiggle these slices a bit so he notices? He seems the sort to need a bit of prodding to get going.

Alright, go ahead, never mind me. Two can play this game. I'm just going to keep it cool, but don't say I didn't warn you. I was here long before the big French Toast Obsession. I can wait.

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2w1wo75)

Fuck’s sake. The bread is just sitting there. Where's the toast? It's not even all the way in. Am I meant to cut off the top inch or something?

Maybe I haven’t waited long enough. Muggles are so inefficient, their toast probably takes longer than magic. I'll snoop around Potter's kitchen a little and then come back.

Hmm. A board hanging on the wall with a load of crap stuck on it. Pizza delivery? I snort at the thought of an owl gripping a pizza in its beak. Some photos. Weasleys. More Weasleys. _More_ Weasleys – but what's this? Some bloke with his arm around Potter. Tall. Blond. He's reasonably good-looking, I suppose, but his taste in clothes is atrocious. Potter's laughing and turning to look at him, but Mr Vain just stares at the camera. Looks like they're on holiday together, somewhere hot. Somewhere romantic. Oops! Clumsy me, I accidentally dropped it down the back of the radiator. What a shame.

Now, where’s my toast, hmm?

What is this – it's still _bread_ , damnit! I'm starting to wonder if it's actually worth shagging Potter, if this is what I have to go through to get a snack afterwards. I have to remind myself quite sternly of his Auror-fit body and apparent lack of gag reflex before I can get things in perspective again.

Right. I am a wizard. This is a mere machine, quite an ugly one, too. It is no match for me. I draw my wand with a flourish but then hesitate. Which spell is appropriate when trying to startle a kitchen appliance into working? After all, I still want it to be able to make toast afterwards. Perhaps intimidating the bloody thing will be enough.

“Listen, you...” I don't even know what to call it. “ _You_.” I give it my best Death Eater look. Oh, yes, I haven't forgotten. I practise in the mirror sometimes at home. There are all sorts of times when it comes in useful. “I need toast, and I need it fucking _now_. Understand?”

I angle my wand so it's pointing into one of the slots. I reckon that must be its weak point, sort of like going for the eyes, or the bollocks.

“So get turning that bread crunchy and delicious right this minute, or else.” I narrow my eyes. It's hard to look dignified and menacing when you're wearing a fluffy red dressing gown that's several inches too short for you, but I manage it all the same.

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2w1wo75)

What? What are you even babbling? Look, I might look small and unassuming, but I've been living with Harry fucking Potter for the past two years. You'd better not stick anything in me without my consent.

That's right, I don't get scared easily. I can turn that pointy little stick to charcoal in three and a half minutes flat. Two if pressed to the bottom, so don't fuck with me, okay?

This bloke is working himself into a state. _Who_ is this clown again? Is Harry letting people stay over? Does he even know you're here and wearing that? Because _that_ is scary.

But maybe I'm being unfair. When I first arrived here I wasn't sure of my place. And the Blender didn't want to share the outlet with me, always bragging about _multi-functions_ and "big connections". But hey, I got over that.

So, let's start over, eh? I want to help you here. We Toasters aren't complicated; we just need a little push. If you were trying to do a smoothie things could get messy quickly (you really can't trust those Blenders). Me? I'm a nice Toaster. I have a good thing with Harry, so don't mess me about.

Now put the stick down and press my bloody lever so we can get this over with.

 

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I'm trying to stay calm. Really I am. But I'm this close to Flooing home and forgetting the whole thing. Only the pleasant ache in my muscles and the memory of how they got that way is keeping me here.

I look at the machine carefully. It's so primitive, there are actually little knobs and things to make it work. A dial. And a lever. How the hell am I meant to know what to do? Why doesn't this thing come with an instruction book? OK. The dial goes from 0 to 10 and I turn it up as far as it will go. No sense messing about here. That should fix it.

I wait a couple of minutes – five minutes, even, while I poke around the kitchen and fail to find anything embarrassing or blackmail-worthy – but the bread is still sitting in the slot, distinctly floppy and bread-like. _Fuck!_ I take one piece out and jam my wand into the slot. There's a sort of weird arrangement of wire and metal in there and I jiggle it purposefully until there's a clattering sound. It feels good, so I do it again. I imagine the thing's teeth rattling, its little metal face scrunching up in pain as I twist my wand into its throat and cast–

“ _For fuck's sake, I just want some toast, you cretinous Muggle object! Is that too much to understand?_ ”

As I jab my wand deeper into its entrails, part of the workings inside it shift and the little lever moves down of its own accord. Shit! Something inside is instantly hot and I pull my wand out sharpish. The thing _is_ magic after all! Potter must have fiddled about with it, made some freaky Muggle-wizard hybrid.

Hah. Well, now I know your secret, little toast-servant. I re-insert the bread. Grasp the lever. Push firmly and with panache, until the bread descends and the Heat Charm starts to work. Really nothing to it.

 

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What the hell, man? Not there! How would _you_ like it if people went poking at your privates? Perverted bastard you are, you’d probably enjoy it!

After all that time and those breathing exercises. I _promised_ Harry I was never going to do this again! No more burnt toasts.

But you! You… Blond _Demon_ , you! You deserve them, and I'm going to enjoy doing this for you. Oh, I'm doing it.

This is going to get nasty. I can feel myself getting hot—call me crazy, but I think I even get bigger.

I heat up nice and steady. This is the part I enjoy the most: turning something barely edible into something golden, crispy, warm and delicious. But I don't stop there as I've done for Harry when he's particularly preoccupied with that temperamental Coffee Maker that works on odd days. Oh no. I keep straight ahead, diligent and focused on my task, trying to keep sounds and scents to a minimum until I feel every part of the bread turning an unpleasant shade of brown and don't stop until—ha!

_Ding!_

I feel smoke coming out of me. I puff some more just as a final touch before I spit two perfectly carbonised slices of bread.

For your enjoyment, mate.

 

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I'm running over last night in my mind, savouring each delicious part in graphic detail and wondering if it's worth getting hold of a Pensieve somehow. I've just got to the bit where Potter turned to me in the club with a hot, hungry look on his face and told me that he'd always wanted to—

An acrid smell hits my nostrils and the most annoying dinging sound ever announces the arrival of my toast.

What. The. Fuck.

WHAT THE FUCK?

This— there's— what the fucking fuckety fuck?

My toast is _burnt_. No. This toast makes burnt look _good_. This toast is _annihilated_. This toast looks like it's made it through Fiendfyre and then decided to go back in, just for a laugh.

This toast is _not_ what I ordered.

Right. This isn’t over. Trust everything in Potter's house to be a pain in the bloody arse. Nothing is ever simple with this man.

You may think you've won, toast-elf, but you don't seem to know who you're dealing with. I could Banish you to the far side of fuck. I could have you jump off the work surface and smash yourself into a thousand splithereens. I could make you sorry you ever messed with Draco Malfoy. And I will, oh, believe me, I will.

Just as soon as I've got some sodding toast.

I need to think. My bladder is nagging at me for release and my stomach feels hollow with hunger. I stalk to Potter's loo and take a long, angry piss. I imagine myself pissing all over the toast-thing, steam rising and sparks flying as I defile its slots, the ugly useless thing consigned to the scrap heap forever.

Merlin, perhaps I'm letting this get to me a little too much.

I finish off and move to wash my hands. My reflection in the mirror over the sink calms me a little. Yes, everything is OK. I'm still fucking gorgeous. My hair looks great. And I came down Potter's throat last night, and then again in his frankly sinful arse. I've got everything going for me.

Except for the fact I can't get any bloody toast.

No. Deep breaths, now. Don't think about that. I'm young, fit, intelligent, rich, charming....

Hmm. Charming. The same charm that doubtless bagged me Potter last night (although truth be told, it took only the merest encouragement before he was rutting against my leg as if it were the culmination of all his life’s dreams). Never let it be said that a Malfoy is too proud to get what he wants through persuasion.

My stomach rumbles. It's eleven thirty. Potter might be back soon, and I need fuel if I'm going to top last night. Right. Charm. I can do this. That shitty little heap of incompetence is not going to know what hit it.

 

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Bet you didn't see that coming, did you?

The blond Demon's gone, probably to lick his wounds. I'm sorry I wasn't hot enough to burn a bit of his chest hair. Did he even have any? I don't see a lot of people come around here.

He's back. Oh, he doesn't look happy, does he?

I deflate a little and now that I've cooled down I kind of feel bad for the bloke. He must be hungry.

Are you hungry, blond Demon-man?

He must be hungry and angry. At this point, and after the look he gives me, I'm not entirely certain if he'd rather eat or destroy.

And I can see you thinking, _plotting_. Come on, it doesn't have to be this way. I'm here to serve. To toast and serve, that's my motto, but you haven't been making things easy for me or yourself.

It's like there's no middle ground with you.

You have to meet me half-way here. I don't even know you, but I'm trying. I just don't understand you. First you expect me to do all the work without directions, then you pushed me to 10 for God's sake.

And what happened? You got burnt toast for your trouble, didn't you?

I can only work with what you give me. I could make things hard for you; pretend I'm unplugged, or get picky with the bread.

In fact, let me tell you the story of how bad the old Waffle Maker fared. He fancied himself so _chic_ —flashy, nothing Harry gave him was good enough. 'This mix is too thick!' 'This mix is too thin.' 'Too chunky.' Never good enough, poor Harry, always burning things or leaving them raw, a right mess. And then one day—it _vanished_. Never to be seen again. It was a bit scary, let me tell you. But soon I became a favourite and after a couple of mishaps I earned my place on the counter. But we all remember. No attitude, and you need to learn that, too.

I didn't earn my place by being a pushover though! Oh, no. I'm dependable.

But you came here like you owned the place, full of demands and threats. And don't you think I didn't notice you messing with that picture on the board there either. By the way, did you do that because you want your picture there instead? You got this look when you were watching Harry with that stranger. You shouldn't worry, really. He was never in the kitchen. I never made toasts for him, either. But you…

Oh wow. This close you're not a bad-looking guy. Past all the rage and frustration you're just a hungry boy, aren't you?

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2w1wo75)

I try to look friendly, even though I'd still quite like to stick the thing in a bucket of cold water and watch it gurgle its last. Dare to burn my breakfast? I've had house-elves turned into slippers for less. But no, I am a guest in Potter's house, and besides, I'm a reformed character these days.

Well. Nearly.

I persuade my lips to form some sort of smile and wonder how in the name of the Dark Lord one gets on the good side of a toast-minion. What on earth would it like? Flattery? Bribes?

“Oh dear, we do seem to have got off on the wrong foot. Ha! Ha! A little misunderstanding, perhaps. You see, this is the deal. You make me toast, and I _don't_ take you out for a spin on my broom and let you have a little accident when we're a thousand feet up.”

No, dammit, that's threats, not flattery! Merlin, this is hard on an empty stomach.

“I mean, err. Hmm. I bet Potter doesn't look after you properly, does he? I bet he doesn't really _appreciate_ you, how clever you are at toasting things. Look at all these crumbs scattered around you. I can see you've been sadly neglected. And your lovely shiny, erm, sides. They're all grubby, too. How about I just...”

I cast a quick Scouring Charm and flick all of the detritus away onto the floor. Potter can sweep it up later. Then a gentle Polishing Charm, soft as a baby's breath. I direct my wand carefully all over, until the thing is gleaming and bright.

“There, now. You're quite a handsome beast, aren't you? I bet you have all of the, er, all of the other appliances just queuing up to, er, fill your slots.” I snicker a little to myself. This is not so bad as I thought, especially when my mouth is virtually filling with saliva at the thought of hot, perfect toast, divinely buttery and smelling like sheer heaven.

“Talking of which...” I take the two charred abominations, not worthy of the name of toast, and Banish them out of existence, then slip two more slices into the thing with loving care. “Is there any chance you could _ever so kindly_ toast these for me? If it's not too much trouble, of course. You've probably noticed, I'm not too familiar with the way you work, so if you could just be an angel and help me out with the tricky bits...? I'd be most obliged.”

I give it a tentative pat. _Ow_. It's still hot, the little bastard, but I keep a winsome smile fixed firmly on my face and console myself with plotting further tortures for it in my head. There. That's the best I can do. I can only hope that it's enough. Because this is the last time I stoop to converse with any more of Potter's possessions.

 

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Oh, stop it! I don't know how you get off saying all these things, you big charmer. I don't want to brag, but I'm a bit of charmer myself. I'm the favourite here, and back at the store I was the biggest seller.

I shouldn't give in this easily, I'll probably never hear the end of this from the others but – between you and me – Harry _is_ a bit shoddy with his cleaning Charms. Not that I mind, hey. I don't need a lot of cleaning, I'm very manly and I like my stains, but I feel two years younger already! Fresh out of the box. Who knew? Maybe you're not so bad.

I think we weren't communicating. I think I scared you? I know, I'm very scary. The Redhead – if you hang out long enough you'll meet him, he's always popping in for a snack – was the same. Didn't know squat about us, but he learned, too. _He_ likes the fridge the best. Me? I need to be worked with, warmed up a bit if you know what I mean, and I like your attitude, mate. I have a good feeling about this new you. I'm even liking the robe – and ever so glad I _didn't_ burn your chest hair. Very manly, too!

Yes, yes, of course I can get this for you. I've been telling you; to Toast and Serve, that's what I do.

And sorry about that, yes, I'm hot. No touchie while I'm working! It says at the bottom. Frankly, that should be on top, but you know, _Manufacturers_. They think they know everything.

Don't worry, I'll talk you through it. Grab some bread, don't be shy. Harry won't mind, honest! Slide it in, no pointy sticks this time. Good.

Let me twitch my dial a notch and, that's it. Okay, now look at the timer carefully. See? That was your mistake. You went too far, you pushed me to burning point. But see, do it gently, first the timer to half-way, and then, yes, that's it, press me slowly until I click and, oh yeah, that's the stuff.

I'll get these for you in a jiffy. I bet I can make them just as you want them, gold and crunchy, and if you want my advice, you put a bit of butter on top after I'm done, they'll melt. Oh yes, I can do wonders, you'll see.

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2w1wo75)

Oh, everything is going much better, now. I can feel it in my bones. A most heavenly smell is beginning to waft around the kitchen. And now I've buffed up the sides of my little toasty friend to a mirror shine, it can help me to try out different poses for when Potter comes home. Do I look better leaning over the kitchen table flicking through the _Prophet_ , like this? Or perhaps lounging nonchalantly in the doorway with a cup of coffee and a smirk? Hmm. So hard to choose.

There's a respectful little _ding_ , and a cheerful _kerchunk_. And there we have it. No drama. No fuss. Just two lightly-golden slices of top-class toast.

I _Accio_ the toast to my plate – I learned my lesson about getting too near the tricksy thing – and settle down at the table with the butter and a knife. I consider for a moment, then Summon a jar of marmalade that I saw in the cupboard. I try to ignore the fact that the smudges on the label look like they once said “ _Molly's finest_ ” and tuck in.

 _Ahhhhhhh._ S'bloody good. Mmm. I'm starving. _Ohh, yes._ Now, that's what I call proper toast. Mmm. Definitely a satisfying crunch, followed by a yielding softness. Topped with marmalade, oozing with syrupy comfort, yet tart enough to make my tongue tingle. The only problem is that two slices are not going to be enough to power the ‘Welcome Home’ that I have planned for Potter. I wave my wand vaguely at the bread and two more slices slip into the slots.

“More toast, my good fellow,” I say, in between mouthfuls. “This is actually very fine. Sterling work, in fact. I'll let Potter know you deserve some sort of promotion or something.”

I spread the second slice thickly with marmalade – might as well finish off the jar while I'm at it – and settle back smugly in my seat to take a contented bite. I vanquished Potter's stupid kitchen. And very soon I'm going to have Potter himself, pressed up against the kitchen cupboards.

_Ding. Kerchunk._

Life is good.

 

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Life is good.

Days like today are when I realise I was made for this. Look at… I'm not sure what his name is, actually.

Look at him, munching away at the toasts I make. I wonder if he'll want a third load? Oh my! I've never done it three times! But I know I can, I'm not worried. I'm young and vigorous, and while I might over-heat, it's nothing that I can't handle. Specially after the thorough cleaning my new friend gave me.

I wonder if Harry's going to notice. He came by last night, made a right mess of things, actually. He had all these marks on his neck, I worried for a moment he might have been attacked, but he was happily muttering about ' _Another round_.' I thought he meant toasts; he made two loads and I thought— _Oh_! He was making them for this guy, clearly.

We have a toast fan here! Wonderful. I hope you visit often.

Wait, Harry's home. Hmm, he's early. I wonder what's he going to say about me being so shiny.

I squeak a little and puff. They're talking. Harry looks over at me, and yeah, it's a glance, but my little heating wires seem to get just a bit hot under his gaze.

It's almost like those few minutes when he's waiting for me to toast the bread and he hums distractedly to himself, tapping his fingers on the counter and when I ding, he looks down at me and smiles. It's our moment. It's almost like that right now.

Only my mate here is distracting him. But that's okay. I think he's bragging about me. That's right, I made all that. I hope he doesn't mention the burnt toasts though. That ought to stay between friends, I say.

 

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Well, well, well. At long last, here he is. Potter perches his arse on the kitchen table and gives me that great big _I saved the fucking world_ grin. “So, everything's been OK? And you made toast. I wondered whether you might have some trouble finding your way around a Muggle kitchen.”

“Me? No. No no no no no.” I smirk. “You underestimate me.” I let my eyes run all over him. Merlin, who designed the Aurors' uniform? I'd like to shake them by the hand. The neat jacket, the tight trousers, the shiny buttons. The _boots_ , oh, yes, the boots.

I use my best seductive tones. “So, you came home for lunch? I've got something here to fill you up.” It's always good to see I haven't lost my knack with a chat up line.

Potter smiles and it feels like warm fingers sliding over my skin. The man really does have more than his fair share of charm. “Well, yep, I'm pretty hungry. But I was thinking this morning. It seems like it's my turn to...”

He raises one eyebrow and tugs at the tie of my dressing gown. Well. I'm not averse to the idea. In fact, the thought of Potter's thick cock nudging inside me starts pleasurable shivers trailing along my spine.

I step nearer, into the V of his legs. “Absolutely. I think you'll find me quite versatile. But first, I want...” The heat rolls off his body from under the uniform. I can see the outline of his erection, trapped under the thick material. “You. Right here. On this table.” I nuzzle against the warm skin of his neck, just below the ear. He smells like honey and spices, and the honest sweat of a morning chasing all those tiresome criminals. “Mmm, Potter, you smell _good_.”

He closes his eyes and tilts his head, a little noise catching in his throat. It's quite the thrill, Potter so acquiescent as I work away at his buttons, stripping off first his jacket and then the tunic. He makes the most delightful sighs and groans as I work my way down the smoothness of his chest, pressing my fingers against the marks of my teeth from yesterday. I shrug off the ridiculous dressing gown in a moment and circle my own cock with my fist as I watch Potter undo his belt and start to peel off his trousers and pants.

What a sight: Potter naked and glorious. Almost worth all that kerfuffle with his wretched Muggle devices. I wonder idly whether I might have him leave the boots on. Then he pulls me close so our erections slide deliciously together, hot velvety skin dragging over nerve endings, and for a little while, I stop thinking altogether.

 

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Wait, what's going on? I've never seen so much of Harry before.

Oh, Blond Demon has his own plug. Okay. Wireless, I've heard about that.

What? No! Stop!

Oh my god, that silly human is sticking his plug into Harry's socket!

He's in pain! The noises! I can't bear the noises!

They're going to blow a fuse! Harry's going to combust!

Oh, god. Someone, please, unplug me.

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2w1wo75)

_Mmm_. Well. That was... yes. Worth waiting for, without question. I feel ridiculously pleased with myself, not to mention thoroughly relaxed – so much so that when Potter takes my hand and leads me back to his bedroom, I go without a murmur. And when he draws my knees up and Conjures some rather fine lube – I must remember to get the spell from him later – I just smile lazily and give myself over to his ministrations.

I hope he doesn't have to rush back to work. From the glint in his eye I'd imagine I'm going to need some more toast after this.

 

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See you soon, _Draco_. Yes, I know that's your name. I heard it. Loudly.

It was a real experience meeting you. Thanks for the cleaning. You made a mess of Harry, but he seemed to enjoy it.

In fact, you had your own moment with him, didn't you? His smile is really something, eh? He smiles like that at me as well. Well, probably not like _that_ , exactly, but you know what I mean.

Call me crazy, but I do hope to see you soon. It _has_ been a bit lonely lately. And I've never seen Harry so, well, let's say enthusiastic. Yeah, let's go with that. And you, you can play coy all you want, but that smile on your face, that was real, too.

We could have something really special here. But hey, what do I know? I'm just a Toaster.

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=e0kjlx)

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave your comments here or on [LiveJournal](http://hd-collab.livejournal.com/7897.html). :)


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